


skin (in the) game

by stonerjohnlaurens



Series: History Obliterates (The Modern Hamilton Universe) [9]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Lafayette, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, American Politics, Cocaine, Drug Addiction, Drug Dealing, Gen, Generally Great Guy Hercules Mulligan, Infidelity, International Drug Lord Alexander Hamilton, Marijuana, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, Stoner John Laurens, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-07-29 01:19:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7664737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonerjohnlaurens/pseuds/stonerjohnlaurens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Previous U.S. Speaker of the House Alexander Hamilton has lost everything: his job, his wife, his children--there's not much left for him to lose. One thing he's definitely not going to lose is his money, that's non-negotiable. When it gets rough, he confides in a very old friend to keep him afloat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolouge

**Author's Note:**

> This is something a lot different than I usually do. Expect a sporadic and random posting schedule. Warnings will come before every chapter. I'm trying to make this fic a long one so, let's see what happens, exactly. All people who are depicted in this fic are cast according to the Original Broadway Cast of Hamilton. Anyone else depicted who is not in the cast will be described prior to the chapter. 
> 
>  
> 
> **THERE IS NO DEATH IN CHAPTER ONE.**
> 
>  
> 
> Edward Stevens - Picture [Diego Luna.](http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0526019/)

**3:07 am:**

_Hey, Alex, man, it’s Ed. I heard about what happened with ol’ Eliza. Real harsh, man. Can’t say I didn’t see it coming, though. From what you told me in your letters before she’s always sounded like a real bitch to me, so I’m not surprised she took so much of your money. I definitely didn’t think she’d take your kids though, man, that’s horrible. The papers say she burned some of your things too? That’s unbelievable. I couldn’t even imagine something like that happening to me. What time is it there that you’re not picking up? Oh, shit, it’s like, 3 AM. I’m sorry about that, Alex. Ahhh….call me back as soon as you can. I got something that might interest you in your, uh, financial situation you’re in._

**3:32 am:**

_Alex….Alex…..are you there? It’s Gil…Gilbert. I heard about what happened with Eliza…I’m real….real sorry about that man, I…fuck, I dropped my glass. I’m just *hic* only maybe a little tipsy, I sweat. Swear, I swear. Look, I miss you and shit and I’m…I’m still in Albany for a week or two, and now that you’re not chained down by that…lady….maybe we could….c…call me back, please. I’m tired…_

**3:43 am**

_I kept the *hic* dresses you got me, you know? The lacey ones…especially the *hic* black one…I know you like that one a lot…you always have…I only wear that for you…call me back…maybe I’ll wear it for you again….bye…this is Gilbert by the way…_

**4:00 am:**

_Alex…Gil again…I just realized I didn’t tell you where I’m staying now…I’m staying with my old friend Adrienne…in Albany…do you remember where her house is? By the riverside? But don’t…don’t worry…I haven’t been with ANYONE since you left…left me to be with your pretty fucking wife and children…but that’s okay I for...I forgive you…anyway…call me back when you get this…bye…_

**4:06 am:**

_You know what? No. I have been with other people. You remember Hercules, that hot guy from my Pilates class, the instructor with the accent?  I fucked him. Fucked him sooooo good after you left. Said I was the best he ever had in his life. He offered to marry me. Marry me, Alexander! He was gonna take me to fucking Ireland! Merde! And that guy you hated back in grad school, Thomas? We dated a little, fucked a lot. Fucked on that nice blanket your foster mom was so generous to make you, the one you left in my apartment? Yeah, it smells like Thomas now and he’s so much better than you in bed. Really knows how to treat a guy. I’ve been having lots of sex and having lots of fun without you, and you know what? I fucking deserve it! And you fucking deserve what you got, Mr. King of The World, now what do you have? Burned clothes and…and no kids and…a fucking lonely existence! That’s what you got! Go to hell, you disgusting fucking bastard. Nique tu mere._

**5:27 am**

_Hi, Alex. It’s Gilbert again, and listening to those messages again made me realize how horrible and desperate I sounded and I’m really drunk and I hope you’ll forgive me and dele—_

_\--I just puked all over Adrienne’s couch. Oh my god. I’m so sorry. Please delete those messages. I’m so sorry. I don’t blame you if you block my number. Bye._

 

* * *

 

Alexander Hamilton. The name should enthuse fanfare and applause, and he should be proud to have it as his own. However, nothing could be more false at the moment.

 

 

He doesn’t bother checking his phone anymore. He’s publicly humiliated his wife – no, _ex-_ wife, shit, - and he’s been fired from his highbrow political job for doing so, the only job he’s ever wanted in his life.

 

Amazing, actually. He can't think of another Speaker of The House that's ever been forcibly removed and/or fired.

 

The last few months have been pure torture. His ex-wife Eliza took him straight to court for what he did. He used a government allotted email account to publicly describe, in detail, the messy sexual affair he carried on with one of his secretaries, one Maria Lewis.

 

Ugh. When he goes over it in his head, he can see why everyone hates him. Honest to God, he looks in the mirror that morning and can’t tell the difference between himself and scum.

 

Maria, as it turns out, used an alias in the workplace, and was actually a married woman. When news spread to her own scum-sack husband, James Reynolds, Alexander cunningly cut a deal with him in order to keep everything out of the press. But, as always, impulsive Alexander felt the need to expose and sabotage himself.

 

Eliza went straight for the jugular. She hired a political rival of Alexander’s, Aaron Burr, as her defense lawyer. Her wealth and position made divorce court quick and painless on her end, and she was awarded nearly 4.6 million dollars – and that’s only in pain and suffering. She also won custody of the couples’ seven children, their cars, and several of his personal possessions. All he’s left with is the large home they had together, now barren and silent.

 

Surprisingly, he’s not upset with Eliza, nor does he think she overreacted.

 

In court, Burr claimed that what Alexander did was not only a mockery of the foundation of the US government, as he’s belittled it to nothing but a shocking headline on the front of a tasteless tabloid, but also a damning middle finger to the Almighty, as he took a vow before his Lord and Savior to be true to Eliza, and such a neglect of morale is one that is deserving of the most negative punishment, one that might stain Hamilton perhaps a fraction as much as he stained the Schuyler-Hamilton name.

 

And that’s the worst part of it all. After that, this slandering and defamation of his name, this accusation of blasphemy, this horrid claim that Burr probably had prepared for months now, Hamilton didn’t snap back at him. He didn’t even pretend he had a retort. He simply looked at his lawyer, dismissed him, and agreed with Burr.

 

And that’s the only time Eliza’s face fell during the trial.

 

“Trouble in Paradise,” the papers say, and yeah, that’s a fucking creative line, isn’t it? Washington fires Hamilton in the midst of the controversy. He’s hesitant, as he values Alexander and his wit, but it’s too much to carry on one company’s shoulders. Can’t have a Speaker of the House that spits so directly on family values, especially when it’s an election year. Thomas Jefferson, yet another political rival of Hamilton’s, happily replaced him.

 

Interestingly enough, Maria and Eliza don’t have any hard feelings towards each other. In fact, the two eloped immediately after the trial, bought a home with the reward money, moved out West. Hamilton hasn’t seen that smile in months.

 

Months. It has been literal months.

 

He hasn’t worked. He hasn’t really left Albany’s borders, and he can barely show his face at the neighborhood super market. He’s been picking from his trust funds to make ends meet, but he’s not nearly as wealthy as he used to be. He doesn’t have the funds to sustain what he does right now, just laze around and wallow in infamy. It’s looking a little grim.

 

He listens to his voicemail, rolling his eyes and cringing at the ones left by Lafayette. Oh, now _there’s_ a messy break up.

 

He listens to the one from Ed again. He doesn’t _want_ to do it. He’s always said he was above that type of work. But right now, Alex doesn’t have a lot to lose, and to say he’s above _anything_ is completely hyperbolic. It’s only 10 am. He should be up still.

 

“ _Buenas tardes_. Stevens residence.”

 

“Ed.”

 

“Alexander?”

 

Alex looks on his bedside table. There’s a picture of him hugging his eldest son, Philip. He’ll most likely never see him again, he’s come to realize. He takes a shot of whiskey.

 

“…I’m calling about the offer. For real, this time, no jokes.”

 

“Ah…” Ed snickers, and Alex can still hear the grin in his voice even when he stops. “You still know how to shoot a gun, or did ol’ Betsey take your balls with her when she left, too?”

 

“ _Besa mi culo_. I can shoot just fine. _Pendejo._ Just shut up and tell me what you need me to do.”

 

“Oh, Alexander, I knew you’d come around.” Alex hears him sip some sort of drink – most likely alcoholic, judging by the hissing noise he makes afterward. “Welcome to the revolution.”

 


	2. rekindle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander decides that he cannot go about this alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **THERE IS NO DEATH IN THIS CHAPTER.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: alcoholism mention, infidelity, swearing, age-gap mentions.
> 
> For Adrienne, picture Coco Jones with [this person's haircut.](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/b0/e1/cf/b0e1cfcf1dcc170b476b931074993f9b.jpg)

“What the fuck are you waiting for, Burr?”

“An opportunity,” He had said. “You don’t just leap around, hoping you’ll land safely wherever you bound. That’s so goddamn idiotic, Alexander, and I know you’re smarter than that.”

Aaron and the other staff members had already left the room after saying this, leaving Alex alone with his thoughts. Alex verbalized his thought aloud despite his solitude, however, relaying the dialogue in his head repeatedly as if it would make sense the more it was said.

“Waiting for an opportunity,” He said to the emptiness of the conference room. He hated to admit it, but Aaron was right. Well, it’s not surprising, seeing as Aaron’s always been more concise than he, but still. Alex hadn’t been, wasn’t, and isn’t one to wait until the safety net is in position, he kind of just goes as he pleases. Think later, act now.

If he was meant to be caught, he wouldn’t have to set things up to succeed. They’d just happen.

“Maybe that’s why I’m in this mess now,” Alex says now, dismissing his flashback and taking a long drag from a cigarette. Technically, he was supposed to quit. Eliza hated cigarettes, especially around the children. But, as the entire world is quick to remind him, Eliza and their children, both biological and adoptive, are gone.

He blows the smoke out over the ledge of his balcony overlooking Albany. The view doesn’t look nearly as gorgeous as he remembers.

 

 

 

Edward was never the cleanest person in the world. No, he takes showers and stuff, morally clean. Alex learned very early in life to never borrow money from “brother dearest” Ed. Lord knows where he’s gotten it from.

Ed runs his life past Alex prior to him confirming his new position. It’s not all that bad, Hamilton must admit. He graduated from a school in the UK and got his MD, and decided he’d be a physician. Seems the son of a bitch even went on to be professor at Alexander’s very own Alma Mater, Columbia. After some odd years, he fell into the coke business, hit gold quickly. If the tempo of Ed’s voice is any indication, it seems he’s chosen his path permanently.

Ed talks really quickly, which isn’t something Alexander’s exactly adverse to, it’s just hard to understand. Money is a very sensitive subject to Alexander, however, so he listens hard so he can comprehend.

“I’m living in Spain now, beautiful place here, it really is. You should come visit. We’ll talk about what I need you to do, we’ll catch up, and you’ll get your pay, blah blah. I’ll have you flown in. You get here, meet my pal, Rodrick, and ask him to take you to the _primera corona_. Sound good, _hermano_?”

Alexander voiced his consent. Only minutes later he received his plane ticket in an email. 

“Ed,” He heard himself say after a long, hesitant pause.

“Yes, Al?”

“Could you…could you send me two tickets? I have someone I want to bring along.”

 

 

 

 “When I gave you my new address and told you that you can come over, I didn’t mean come over to lecture me, you know that, right?” He says, barely opening the door. His voice is uncharacteristically small and timorous.

Alexander puts a hand up to stop him. “I have no interest, Gil. Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” A beat. “Yeah, I guess.”

Gilbert opens the door completely and motions for Alexander to enter.

Gilbert looks like a wreck. Well, by his standards, at least. In comparison to any average Joe, Gilbert looks fantastic. He’s still sculpted very well – his biceps have their own biceps, muscles rippling, shoulders broad and strong. Just as Alexander remembers. It’s just his presentation that’s lacking. The Gilbert that Alexander’s familiar with would be fussing at this Gilbert. His ponytail is lazily thrown together, mussed. His shirt isn’t name brand at all, let alone designer. And to make matters worse? There’s a stain on it.

Alexander follows him inside and takes in the surroundings. The house is certainly nicer than Gilbert’s own flat by a long shot, but when Alex and Gilbert would go there, he never really had time (or interest) to observe the scenery.

“To be honest with you, I’m almost used to it all,” Alexander says.

“Huh?”

“You calling like that, it’s always around the same time. September, you know.”

“Oh. I…” Gilbert drums his fingers on his hip, nervous. “I never notice, to tell you the truth.”

“I do. Happy birthday, man.”

“Oh!” Gilbert gasps. Alexander can tell it’s a ruse.

This isn’t a coincidence: Lafayette gets blasted drunk every single birthday.

If he’s not drunkenly singing to Alex, he’s calling him on the phone to relay a booze-fueled message.

Alexander is concerned for his health, but it can’t be too horrible, can it? Gilbert is a well-rounded man, one of age at that. He’s always been responsible.

“I find it really despicable that you want to rekindle things all of a sudden, you know, now that you’re alone.”

Alexander twisted his face up at Gilbert. “I never said I wanted that,” he says with a scoff, tone bordering both disgust and boredom.

“Well, good.”

“I’d be lying if I said I’ve never considered it, though.”

Gilbert stopped in his tracks.

“Do you mean that?”

Alexander stares blankly at his ex-boyfriend. He’s not too sure what to say, and he’s kind of hoping Gilbert can understand his body language just as gracefully he can understand French. The longing looks end soon after they start however, as Adrienne bumbles into the room after a few seconds. Her micro-braids swing wildly with each playful bound and step, and her face unreadable.

“Oh, Gilbert. You know I don’t mind, but I really wish you’d tell me when you have company over.”

 “He’s leaving soon,” Gilbert says, not taking his eyes off of Alex.

“Yes,” Alex interrupts. “We both are, actually. I’m taking Gilbert out on a birthday vacation. Have you ever been to Spain?”

The Frenchman sputters a surprised utterance, and Adrienne coos. “That’s so sweet of you!” she says sweetly, and Alexander smirks.

“Gilbert, why haven’t you introduced me to this nice man before?”

“Adrienne, can we sidebar for a minute?” Gilbert asks after the initial shock dissipates.

She scratches at the shaved portion of her head. “I suppose.”

Alexander takes the minute or so he has out of the conservation to survey the situation. It’s really just fucked up. He’s at this girl’s house, some lesbian with a black power tattoo and braids with an undercut. And the lesbian is housing his ex-boyfriend, Gilbert, a former FSO and increasingly belligerent alcoholic. There he is, hair tied in that oily, scraggly, ponytail, and he’s whispering to Adrienne with anger behind his hushed voice. He can only imagine the bullshit excuse Gilbert’s using to explain why Alexander’s in her house, especially after the phone calls, and especially on Gilbert’s 40th birthday.

And, you know, the whole infidelity combined with the cocaine-related job venture ain’t ideal either, yet here we are. Surprisingly enough, that wouldn’t be the hard part about convincing his ex to come along with him. They’ve done crazier things, Alexander rationalized in his head.

No, the most difficult part of all this is that Gilbert _is_ Gilbert, and he’s the only person that Alexander knows that has a bigger ego than him.

Gilbert would never admit to Alexander that he misses him, not sober, anyway. It explains why Adrienne doesn’t know who the fuck Alexander is. Well, it could also be attributed to the fact that she probably doesn’t watch most political scandals, but that’s iffy. Looking her up and down, Alexander doesn’t take her as the type to ignore current events.

Adrienne’s pretty, and Alexander tries to remember what Gilbert’s told him about her.

He’s at least 10 years her senior, maybe 15. There were rumors they’ve slept together (“the fucking tabloids, _mon cher_ , they’re disgusting, I swear,”) but Gilbert denies it every time. Besides the whole age thing, she’s his family friend. It would be borderline incestuous or something.

And, objectively, Alex could see why someone would want to get with Adrienne. The age gap puts him a little on edge, but she’s a babe. Her braids reach a little past her hips and nip at the top of her thighs. She has to be at least 5’10, because she’s nearly eye-to-eye with the 6-foot-tall Gilbert. She has matching beauty marks under her left eye and under her black power tattoo, proudly displayed on her left, bare shoulder. Her skin is a deep brown; it’s dark enough that her body hair is inconspicuous. Her eyes are nearly black, like scuffed pebbles, and they shine when the shitty fluorescents hit her irises.

Alexander can’t help but look at her with envious eyes. She’s only like 25 or 26, and she just got out of grad school. She’s gorgeous, really.

She’s got her whole life ahead of her. So much more time to get her life together, and she’s already ahead of the game.

Adrienne turns to Alexander after a while. “I see,” is all she says. Great, we’re all acquainted it seems.

“I’m not trying to do anything bad,” Alexander lies. Well, not completely a lie, he supposes. He has no ill intent with Adrienne’s roommate, at least. Is selling people illegal substances that they clearly ask for such a terrible deed? That’s up for personal interpretation.

“You turn up at my house after months of nothing, Hamilton, nothing,” Gilbert starts. “How am I supposed to believe you don’t have bad intentions? What makes you think I’m just going to go with you?”

Alexander can’t help but think back to the damning evidence in his voicemail box. It seems that Gilbert is dying to go back with Alexander, follow him around like a subservient, horny lapdog. And yeah, perhaps that’s a gross thing to utilize, but Alexander needs his recklessness around just as much as Gilbert needs his. Especially in a foreign country, with someone as shady as Ed. He needs him.

“I’m not beyond begging, Gil.” Alexander hears himself squeak. And isn’t that just a bitch? He didn’t mean for it to sound so, well, _pathetic_ , but he couldn’t help it, it just comes out. Gilbert’s taken aback by that, as is Adrienne. The two exchange a look.

“Well, my dearest Adri, what do you think?”

“I’m calling his bluff,” She spits, in the most Lafayette fashion. She’s so like him, always instigating something she really shouldn’t. “I wanna see him grovel, let’s see those knees hit the carpet!”

Alexander is fighting the urge to roll his eyes now, pouting and ready to leave. But, he needs Gilbert.

Alexander drops to his knees and fakes a pitiful voice. “Please, Gil,” He says mockingly. “I need you to come with me.”

Adrienne laughs. Gilbert doesn’t.

 

 

“I can’t believe you actually got on the fucking ground and begged me to come back with you.”

Gilbert’s looking more like himself now. After he was thoroughly convinced, he rushed to clean himself up and pack his bags for his trip to Spain.

That face is back, that soft-yet-rugged face, the one Alexander is used to swooning at. His beard is trimmed down, ponytail tidy and tied neatly. He’s wearing a sweater in preparation for the cold terminal and it fits him so well, so damn well -  

“It’s not like that, and you know it,” Alexander snaps as he drives his car into the designated area for paid parking. “And you can tell Adrienne whatever you want when we get back, but you know me well enough to know this isn’t about you.”

“Oh, but it’s been some time, Alexander. People can change over time, you know.”

He puts the car in park when he finds a spot. He turns the key out of the ignition and sighs. “I know. I think I know that better than anyone else in the fucking world.”

“Hyperbole. Adrienne’s an English minor, she’s been teaching me a few things.”

That rapid-fire wit paired with the toothy smile. It’s his weakness. It’s what drew him in at first.

“You’re the best mistake I’ve ever made, you know that?” Alexander says after laughing. He’s losing some of his gruff, and it’s all because of that damn smile.

“Best mistake, that’s an oxymoron.”

“Did she tell you what irony is?”

“ _Non_ ,” Gilbert sheepishly admits. “Not too sure what that is.”

That’s when it happens. Alexander leans into a kiss with Gilbert, and his lips fall malleable to his will at first contact. Alexander’s barely taken his left hand off of the steering wheel, but he guides his right one into Gilbert’s hair almost immediately. Gilbert seems to take offense at first, all but gasping, but he falls into it soon enough, the shock melting into lust and the lust melting into moans and caressing touches.

They neck for a few in Alexander’s car. This is the car he would’ve given Phillip had his family stuck around. This is the car he and Eliza drove her ailing father in before he died. It’s so remarkable, Alexander thinks, how little things can mean when you give them a little time.

The windows are fogging up. He feels like a teenager again.

Alexander restrains himself and stops things before they get actually sexual. By the time this happens, Gilbert’s up against the passenger side window, panting like a bitch in heat.

“I like irony. It’s hot,” Gilbert says.

“Fuck you.”

“Please?”

Alexander chuckles nervously. He can remember why this didn’t work out, this whole “boyfriends” nonsense. He chooses not to dwell on the past. He has other shit to worry about.

The tickets are burning holes in his pocket.

“Let’s go check in,” Alexander says once the lust clouds clear from his mind. Gilbert nods slowly, high on the affection and attention.

 

 

 

* * *

 

**NEW YORK POST**

**SEPTEMBER 7 TH, 2016**

**WHERE ARE THEY NOW?: HAMILTON LEAVES SOME QUESTIONS**

**Albany—** Ex-Speaker of the House Alexander Hamilton has been spotted leaving his home, yesterday, on September 6th, as early as 7:00 am, and has reportedly gone on an international trip, according to sources. This is the first time Alexander Hamilton has been seen outside of his home since the Schuyler-Reynolds Scandal. Mrs. Eliza Schuyler-Hamilton is unavailable to comment, and has been M.I.A for nearly 8 months since news broke of the infidelity. The couples’ home, once featured in _New York Now: The Best Places to Live if You Have Money_ , is net worth valued at 1.2 billion dollars. It is rumored that the home and its accommodations are courtesy of Eliza Schuyler-Hamilton’s late father, Phillip Schuyler, owner and CEO of Blue Schuy Incorporated, a company most well-known for its advancements in both software engineering and social media accessibility. “He was an amazing co-worker,” says current Speaker of the House Thomas Jefferson, a friend and supporter of the Hamiltons. “I hope all is well with him, I could not imagine being without my family and how it would make me feel. I hope wherever he is, that he’s safe and he knows that the world hasn’t forgotten him. Godspeed.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quoted directly from my skin (in the) game tags:
> 
> so, historically, alexander hamilton and edward stevens were rumored to be half-brothers, and they worked very closely in the caribbean prior to alexander’s immigration to america. in this fic, stevens knew of hamilton from their childhood in central america. they were separated and met again once the two met at columbia university. they ended up taking very, very different paths and rarely talk since separating again. hamilton went into american politics, and stevens into medicine.
> 
> alexander is closeted! eliza isn’t a beard or anything, but alexander is bisexual and lafayette, an openly gay former american diplomat/fso (he has dual citizenship in france and the us, and he resigned, he didn’t get fired or anything), started seeing him clandestinely when alexander started looking into politics. once alexander met eliza, he grew very close to her and considered his options. alexander, both out of desire for eliza and in attempt to abandon his feelings for men, broke up with lafayette very suddenly and asked him to forget about him completely. this was prior to alexander getting his position as the speaker of the house.
> 
> you can read stuff about skin game on my tumblr [here](http://www.stonerjohnlaurens.tumblr.com/tagged/skingame), and ask me about the au [here](http://www.stonerjohnlaurens.tumblr.com/ask/). I'm very excited to continue, and I would love feedback about it.


	3. recieved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander and Gilbert bond over the past and prepare for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I think I'm gonna try to update this once a week? Either Wednesdays or Saturdays. Woohoo!!
> 
>  
> 
> **THERE IS NO DEATH IN CHAPTER THREE, BUT THERE IS MENTION OF A PREVIOUS DEATH.**
> 
>  
> 
> Rodrick: [Antonio Banderas.](http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000104/)  
> Sally: [Sasha Hutchings.](http://www.playbill.com/person/sasha-hutchings-vault-0000121400/)
> 
> Warnings for: Explicit sexual content, alcohol mentions, swearing, very little discussion around a sexual act, more drug mentions.

“C’mon,” Hamilton says when Gilbert doesn’t snap into action right away. The kiss has left the Frenchman reeling, and Alexander almost regrets bringing him along on the trip.

 

Almost.

 

“C’mon,” Hamilton says when Gilbert takes too long to order his coffee prior to getting to the terminal. Sure, it’s his birthday and all, but they’re still on borrowed time, and there will be refreshments on the plane (especially considering the cost of the tickets). Alexander doesn’t want to be recognized more than he already has been. The clerk at the check-in desk knew his face well, and the woman making Gilbert’s coffee wouldn’t take her eyes off of Alexander when giving Gilbert his drink. The cold stare makes Alexander shudder, and he almost regrets bringing Gilbert along, again.

 

Almost.

 

“C’mon, c’mon,” Hamilton says when Gilbert doesn’t come as quickly as he used to when Alex would fuck him like this, They’re in a private room on the plane now (turns out there aren’t that many people who want to fly to Madrid in first class one way on a Tuesday morning, who would’ve thought?), and the flight attendants, per usual, are sworn to secrecy. And, if one of them were to stray, Alex could afford to pay them off. At least, for now. His funds are quickly depleting, he’s quick to acknowledge.

 

Alex’s mouth hasn’t left Gilbert’s neck and Gilbert moans wantonly, whines, _cries_ at the nerve of it all. His ex-boyfriend, a first-class international flight, his sinful fingers doing _that_ again, he never would’ve anticipated this—

 

Alex is finger-fucking him like his life depends on it, losing all sense of rationale. His past doesn’t matter, nor what’s going to happen once they land. He just wants to see Gilbert’s cute little “ _oh_ ,” he does when he comes, feel the tension slowly roll out of his muscles and his grip loosen off of his hips. He wants to witness his eyes fluttering shut as the sensation hits him, listen to his usually booming voice go faint until it’s dissipated, and for a sweet utterance of _Alexander_ to ease off his tongue and crash into Alex’s eardrums. It’s the first thing he’s been sure of in months: he wants to make Gilbert come.

 

It’s a struggle, and that’s surely attributed to time apart. Gilbert and Alexander met early into Alexander’s years of grad school, but only started fucking once Alexander found interest in politics. Gilbert admitted to him that he’s a diplomat, an FSO, and he has been for many years.

 

 

_He was around 27 when he met Gilbert, and Gilbert was 28. They found each other in a discreet bar in a seedy part of town, fucked each other drunkenly, and then bonded over their immigrant status over post-hangover breakfast._

_This became a sort of pastime for the boys. Tradition, almost._

_“Being an FSO who isn’t from the states is hard to say the least,” Gilbert had said on one such morning while flipping a pancake on the griddle. “Dual citizen is a bitch to get, this country is so protective all the time.”_

_“We live in troubled times.” Alex had replied. “The country needs you. Didn’t you hear? We just closed an embassy over in Kabul this year. Who knows what could happen without people like you stationed in countries like that?”_

_“Ah, you say this like America is any better than Afghanistan. Stay in school, mon cher, perhaps you’ll learn something of politics.”_

_“I didn’t graduate from grad school to be a janitor, you French fuck. Don’t patronize me. I’m going to go into a political field someday.”_

_“Someday soon, as in this century I hope? That’s adorable, I’d sooner see a black president.”_

_“Jokes, jokes…you act as if you just became a diplomat overnight. Everyone has their humble beginnings.”_

_Gilbert leaned over the counter and smeared some pancake batter on Alex’s nose. Alex squeaked, and Gilbert licked the spot clean, kissing his nose dry after._

_“Nothing about you is humble, my dear. And that is good. You have the mind of a politician already. I believe in you.”_

 

 

And from then on, they dated. Clandestinely. Until he met Eliza, of course. Until being a bisexual man dating a male diplomat became too much for his image. Until he fell head over heels in love with this family woman, this woman who loves children and adopting children, before he impregnated Eliza twice and agreed to adopt five other kids, before all of that. Gilbert was there. He almost wishes Gilbert wasn’t there, and that the hurt that followed Alex from there on out could’ve been avoided.

 

But never mind that.

 

 

Gilbert is bucking his hips up now, his hard dick rubbing on Alexander’s clothed thighs desperately. Alex didn’t even bother disrobing himself or wasting time with Gilbert’s shirt. He could take him apart like this, pantless and semi-formal, yeah, it’s easy.

 

Alexander breaks from sucking hickeys into Gilbert’s neck and puts his mouth lower. He hasn’t stopped fingering him, and Gilbert’s succumbed completely to the feeling, right hand gripping furiously at the sheets and left hand tweaking his own nipples.

 

Alex puts his tongue to the head of Gilbert’s cock, both a tease and a question. Gilbert looks down with very little composure and sighs at the sight. He takes his hand from his chest and slowly glides it into Alexander’s hair, silently giving him enthusiastic permission.

 

Once allowed, Alexander wastes no time and takes Gilbert in till tears are prodding at Alexander’s eyes. It’s amazing that’s he’s not gagging (it has been quite some time since he’s taken a man like this).

 

Gilbert gasps as he sinks into Alexander’s mouth, and the hand in Alexander‘s hair grips harder.

 

 

The cigarette feels foreign in his mouth afterwards.

 

Gilbert fades from consciousness shortly after he comes, and he insists on Alexander fucking him while he’s still wallowing of the afterglow of orgasm. Alexander wishes that he could say he was responsible, and that he expressed his uncomfortableness with them hooking up so many years after they’ve discussed boundaries.

 

But, he didn’t. Alexander’s never been one to hesitate.

 

 

 (“You brought lube with you? You bastard. Were you planning to seduce me the whole time?”

 

“Sure, Alexander, whatever allows you to sleep at night. Arrogant ass.”

 

“You were! You really intended on this!”

 

“I never thought you’d still be this easy.”)

 

 

The feeling is all too much after Lafayette bares through the pain of being fucked so soon after just coming, and he downs two glasses of mimosas before he finally rests. Alexander doesn’t rest though. He smokes his first cigarette, contemplatively, and then another. He knows it’s bad. He can practically hear Eliza’s voice chastising him in his head.

 

A flight attendant comes around after the room’s been quiet for a bit, takes the ashes Hamilton’s flicked onto the dish by his bedside, takes the empty glasses from Lafayette’s side as well.

 

“Are you enjoying your flight, Mr. Hamilton?” The attendant asks. She’s clearly uncomfortable, what, with the stench of gay sex stinking up the cabin and a comatose Gilbert curled up next to Alexander Hamilton, a politician who, as far as the public knows, is a straight man.

 

Alexander stares into space for a bit, finishes his cigarette, and grabs a third. He offers one to the flight attendant, and she declines.

 

“Oh c’mon now, it’s against policy or some bullshit, right?” He says sardonically. “Take a fucking smoke.”

 

She obliges quickly and asks him to light it. He does, and they share a moment, blowing smog into the plane’s shared space.

 

“What’s your name, kid?”

 

“I’m 27.”

 

The number sears a nasty imprint into the back of Alexander’s brain. Sure, he’s not old enough to be her father, but it’s still an awkward situation, an entire 12 year gap. He looks at Gilbert, thinks of Eliza, thinks of Maria, thinks of Philip.

 

A lot can happen in 12 years.

 

“Like I said,” Blows smoke, the smog swirls with her own exhaled smoke. “What’s your name, _kid_?”

 

“Sally,” She deadpans. “Anti-climactic, huh? I’m not that interesting, you don’t have to pretend.”

 

“Hey, I barely know you, _Sally_. I’m not saying you have to talk to me or anything, you just seem like you’d want a break.”

 

She twists her face up at him. “Why would I want to take a break with some old fart who cheated on his wife? And I’m pretty sure you’re naked under that cover? Grody.”

 

He laughs at that. He also called 30-something’s old  when he was Sally’s age, unaware how soon Father Time’s cruel clock-hands would be pointed in malice towards him, how the passage of time really could affect him just as it had those old farts.

 

“Touche. I apologize. It’s just, I don’t know, I know myself. And I know this guy here, Gilbert. The flight’s a little over twelve hours, and this plane is basically empty. I wouldn’t want to babysit us for one minute, let alone half-of-a-day.”

 

“No, it’s okay.” She smiles and sits in a chair near the bed. “I appreciate it, I’m just being a hardass. I do appreciate the cig. I needed it.”

 

They talk about every stupid thing that came to their minds: flights and planes, planes versus trains (“Sure, trains are less hassle, but planes are faster, and a bit more exclusive. Plus, the mile high club has it’s perks, you know?”), grad school and how fucking useless her major turned out to be (“The people who get on these planes, you know, they never ask me about my Women’s Studies major or my Anthropology minor, no, they just go, ‘hey toots,’ and ‘can I have another mimosa?’ it’s so tiresome. I really just want a raise so I can pay off my loans. I still owe them around one thousand, but I still have to _live_.”), and even animals (“I like pigs myself. They’re usually associated with being unclean and ugly, but I really think they’re cute.”)

 

Gilbert wakes up. The plane lands. Life and time go on.

 

As he’s leaving the plane, Alexander hugs Sally. She says her professional, nearly robotic dismissal, something along the lines of “fly with us again!” or “safe travels,” but Alex won’t have it.

 

He slips something in her pocket as he hugs her, and she looks at him quizzically. He says nothing, nods, and ushers Gilbert off the plane, towards baggage claim.

 

 

They leave the airport, luggage dragging behind them, and Gilbert looks to Alexander for guidance.

 

“We’re finding someone named Rodrick, right?”

 

“Right, right. Can you tip him though? I don’t have any cash on me, I’d have to find an ATM and do conversions and it would be easier if you’d—”

 

Gilbert cuts him off with an exasperated groan and turns around, going back into the airport to convert his American dollars into Euros.

 

Gilbert returns with an exaggerated frown on his face. “The Euro’s gone to shit, _putain de merde_.” He’s holding a little over 400 Euros and he stuffs some in his front pocket, the rest going into the wallet in one of his carry-ons. “What happened to your cash, anyway? I thought you took out at least a grand?”

 

“Yeah, I spent it, it was something important.” Alex assured him, and Gilbert shrugged and accepted that answer.

 

 

Rodrick is sketchy. He’s got bags under his eyes darker than Alexander’s, his curly hair looks too shiny to be healthy, and he keeps his mouth tight and barely speaks to the duo when they meet. Alexander does as he’s told and asks to go to the _prima corona_.

 

Rodrick just nods. Alexander is impressed that he’s found someone who actually makes him feel young for once.

 

The ride to Pozuelo de Alarcón, the neighborhood in which Ed lives, is shorter than Alexander expected. Apparently it’s a rich subsection of Spain, and some of the richest motherfuckers in the entire country live there.

 

Rodrick stops in front of a large villa, at least three stories high. Gilbert whistles in admiration at its presence, and Alexander’s jaw nearly hits the bottom of the car.

 

“ _Estamos aquí_ ,” Rodrick announces as soon as they stop.

 

“ _Gracias_ ,” Alexander replies. He nudges for Gilbert to hand the driver some money, and Gilbert reluctantly gives over 100 Euros.

 

This is the first time Rodrick smiles the entire trip. He looks at the money like it’s unneeded, probably misunderstanding since the tip is excessive for a drive that was under 30 minutes.

 

“ _Buena suerte_.” And he drives off.

 

“What did he say?”  Gilbert asks.

 

Alexander pulls the luggage from the car’s trunk, slams it closed. He takes Gilbert’s hand in his and squeezes it. Once he lets go, he takes off for the front door. He presses the doorbell and a long exaggerated chime follows. He can hear footsteps approaching.

 

“He said good luck,” Alex answers. “Hopefully we won’t need it, though.”

 

 

 

 

Somewhere over the Atlantic, an American Airlines plane is going towards Port Authority in New York. In the plane, there’s a girl named Sally, and she’s one of the bathrooms of the luxury plane, bawling her eyes out. She’s shaking and trying to compose herself, and she’s calling her mother and children, telling them that she can finally pay off her school loans in full, and that she’ll be home a lot more often from now on. Her eldest daughter nearly screams, and when she says “I’m so proud of you, mommy,” Sally nearly chokes on her tears, and she thanks the merciful god above for the gracious donation from Alexander Hamilton.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We meet Ed in the next chapter! See you next week.


	4. reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander meets Ed again, and they go over the deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **THERE IS NO DEATH IN THIS CHAPTER.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: recreational drug use (cocaine), some violence, homophobic slurs, alcohol, excessive swearing, references to the 2016 Presidential Election.
> 
> Thank you to AJ and Moonz ([Their Hamilton blog is here!](http://washingtononyourside.tumblr.com/)) for beta-ing this chapter <3
> 
> Yikes, remember when I said this fic would have a steady posting schedule? I lied. School got rough. I will update when I can!

Timezones suck, and it occurs to Alexander when he’s walking up to the door that the sun is just rising.

 

“Alexander!” Edward shouts, much too cheery for a ‘probably-not-even-8-am’ visit.

 

“Edward!” Alexander shouts back, pulling his dear friend in for a hug.

 

“Not Alexander!” He shouts at Gilbert, who flinches. “No, seriously! Who the fuck is this guy?”

 

“Edward, this is Gilbert Lafayette,” Alexander scratches the back of his head. “He’s my…”

 

“Concubine, plaything, boytoy, take your pick, honestly,” Gilbert responds, with a smile too wide to be genuine.

 

Alexander doesn’t know why that doesn’t suffice for him.

 

“Oh, man, this is new. This,” He points at both Alexander and Gilbert with two fingers, then brings the fingers together in a crude gesture meant to simulate sex. “This is really fucking new. Holy shit.” Edward backs up into his house and runs a hand through his hair.

 

“What are we doing outside like a bunch of crazy people, though? Come in! Welcome to my motherfucking paradise!”

 

Alexander didn’t know how to feel about Gilbert’s nonchalant reply. Sure, Gilbert’s always been pretty passive when it comes to sexual activity, but this was weird. Something stung within him.

 

There are only two people on the planet who have been told of Alexander’s actual sexual orientation: Gilbert, and one of Alexander’s previous co-workers/sister-in-law, Angelica Schuyler. If you factor in the people who had been told by Lafayette, you come to four (Adrienne and Ed). Perhaps five if you count the Irish fellow Hercules, who Alexander isn’t too sure he trusts yet.

 

Alexander doesn’t count himself because he’s not sure if he wants to claim it yet or if it’s even necessary.

 

Ed’s house looks the way Alexander would imagine any drug lord's house looking. It smells of cinnamon and sweet wine, like the foyer of a host’s holiday get together. Nearly everything in the house is made of marble, save the actual furniture, and those are either glass (the tables, the chandelier), lush material like satin or cotton (the sofa, the loveseat), or electronic devices.

 

“It’s been too long, to be honest with you, Al.” Ed leads the duo into the main room with a TV so large its resolution imitates life itself. There’s a glass coffee table in front of a loveseat and two adjacent sofas, and Ed plops down onto the loveseat. 

 

Alexander looks to the TV—it has to be at least 75 inches wide. A Spanish drama plays on the TV, and Alexander swears he can see every wrinkle on the actors’ faces. He’s about to comment on it when Gilbert nudges him for his attention. Alexander turns his attention to him, and Gilbert points to the table.

 

Ed’s head is to the table near a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey, and sniffing can be heard. Performative sniffing, in fact. The type that takes quite some time to master. Alexander realizes only then that Ed rolled up a Euro dollar into a makeshift straw, and he’s using it to snort up a line of cocaine.

 

“Straight to the point. I can see the family resemblance,” Gilbert jokes quietly. Alexander doesn’t laugh.

 

“Jesus, that’s nice,” Ed says. He lifts his head from the line with practiced ease, starts to rub as his temples when the sensation hits. He looks to Alexander with wide eyes, all smiles. 

 

Alexander doesn’t want to completely be like Ed. Edward Stevens is a fucking slime ball. He’s grimy, dishonest, and not really respectable in any sense.

 

Well, besides the fact that he has enough money to buy and sell Alexander. Alexander can definitely respect that.

 

“So, you’ve finally gotten off your high horse and you’re joining the family business.” Ed laughs, manic, and Gilbert shrinks a bit into himself. “That’s rich. Good god, Alexander Hamilton, in the  _ flesh _ , begging to be my duffle bag boy.”

 

“Please, spare me the speech, Ed. I just wanna do this for a bit until I’m back on my feet.”

 

“Oh, but that’s how it starts. Fuckin’ Americans, man. You all feel like you’re entitled to something, you all just...” Ed takes a forced breath and waits for his nerves to settle.

 

“Look,” He says, getting up. He walks into his kitchen area, comes back with two shot glasses. He fills both to the brim with the Jack on the table, takes one to the head, and offers the other to Alex. Alexander takes it and knowingly gives it to Gilbert, the boozehound. 

 

_ It’s much too early to drink _ , Alexander thinks.

 

“ _ Cabello _ isn’t a part-time job, Al, it’s a bit of a lifestyle—don’t you fucking laugh, Frenchie, I’m serious. I’ve seen guys, they’re just ‘trying to get on their feet’ or ‘just trying to make some money on the side.’ No, this is a full-time thing. Do you really think cops care about your intentions with this shit?” When he says  _ shit _ , he accentuates the vowels by dramatically rubbing his fingers in the cocaine powder.

 

Alexander’s face stays firm. Sad to say, this isn’t his first encounter with cocaine. Unsurprisingly, of course, being so heavily involved with American politics. He’s never partaken in it himself—he prefers cigarillos and the occasional joint now and then—but he’s seen sinister things done with it behind closed doors. These things, they’re so vile and scandalous, they put  _ The Wolf of Wall Street  _ to shame. Thank the good Lord above for the Department of Public Relations.

 

“Probably not,” he replies, unfazed.

 

“I see.”  Ed is quiet for a bit, before he explodes with hysterical laughter and swats at Alexander’s knee. “Good god, I’m just fucking with you man. The US is so easy to sell drugs in. The cops there are such bitches.”

 

Alexander laughs in courtesy. Gilbert is laughing too, very nervously. Alex can tell he’s regretting agreeing to come with him.

 

“Gotta weed ‘em out somehow, you know. Can’t have a brigade full of bitches slanging dope in my name. Not Stevens, no.” He wipes the excess cocaine from his nostril onto his hand, sniffs, and sighs. “I know you’re not a bad egg, though. Not you.”

 

Alexander nods, impatient.

 

“Let me show you to the main attraction then.” Ed says, getting up again. Alexander can’t help but go  _ finally  _ in his brain. It’s already taken everything in him to go through with this shitshow, he’s really eager to just get to the part where he can roll around in euro dollars on satin furniture.

It’s greedy. It’s a deadly sin, but somebody has to do it.

 

Ed walks Gilbert and Alexander past the main room and kitchen, past a game room full of foosball tables and dartboards, past a bathroom nicer than the plane they took, and to a small door. Ed opens the door, which reveals a stairwell. He requests for the couple to go before him, and they oblige reluctantly. It’s dark down there, but neither has the gall to admit that they’re the least bit frightened.

 

“Here we are.” Ed says, conversationally, like they’re not in some deep, dark recess between the Earth’s crust and the Netherworld. He flips a switch on the wall and the lights go up.

 

There are guns. Real, live, life-ending guns. Way too many for all of them to be legally obtained. And near this is a large, walk-in safe. Ed opens the safe with no difficulty and shows the two inside. 

 

_ There’s too much cocaine in there. _ Alexander feels his gut lunge, but he squishes his better judgement down. The time to turn back is long gone.

 

“Now, while you do have some shitty cops in your country, Customs and TSA make it pretty hard to fly this stuff in. So, I have a guy already in the states waiting for you with tons of. Loads of it.”

 

“So why are we here?” Gilbert snaps.

 

“I’m getting to that, you fuckin’ queer.” Ed snaps back, fist raised.  

 

Alexander verbally reprimands Ed, but not too fiercely. The bump Ed just snorted hit really quickly, and Alex is smart enough to know cokeheads are prone to violence. He wants to de-escalate the situation without setting his cousin off completely.

 

“I have an ID and passport for you, Al. They got fake names on ‘em, and I’ve altered your pic a bit in photoshop.” 

 

The Alexander on the ID card goes by _Raul_ _Gutierrez_ , and he’s 35. Ed has already edited one of the rare pictures of Alexander with his hair down—Eliza always said it made him look like more of a douchebag than usual—and emphasized the bags under his eyes a little more. He has more facial hair in the photo, which concerns Alex at first, but Gilbert quickly reassures him (“Most men shave _daily, mon chou._ It’ll be fine.”)

 

“Ah, shit.” Ed curses. “I don’t have an ID for you, actually, Frenchie.” He takes a phone out of his pocket. It’s nothing like the other ones he’s been showing off during their stay. It’s a flip phone ( _ fuckin’ ancient _ , Alexander hears Gilbert whisper. Alexander quickly explains that most drug dealers use old-ass phones on purpose, so they’re not tracked).

 

“I have to talk to my guy again about getting you an ID. Fuck. You’re pretty noticeable in the states too, huh?”

 

Gilbert nods sadly.

 

“Fuck. Fuck!” Ed kicks the safe door closed once they’re back outside, and leads them out of the cellar. Alex grips onto his ID like his life depends on it, only because it kind of does.

 

How long will it take you to get me an ID?” Gilbert asks.

 

“Ah, maybe three days. Two if I rush.” He sniffs. “I hope you guys don’t mind too much.”

 

Alexander most certainly  _ does  _ mind. He wants money  _ now _ , not three days from now. He just wants to get back on the plane, meet this douche in Miami, and sell some drugs. “I don’t mind,” He lies.

 

Alexander considers the fact that everything he’s set up could easily backfire into his face. He can’t stand the thought of not being consistently wealthy. He makes a face at the thought, and banishes it away to the very back of his skull. He still has his savings. Being in a beautiful foreign country for a few more days than expected with a beautiful man isn’t the worst predicament he could be in.

 

“It’s a bit risky for us to stay here overnight, I think.” Alex asserts confidently, knowing that his argument is full of bullshit. He really just wants to be alone with Gilbert and do some touristy things in the city, his safety be damned.

 

“I agree,  _ hermano _ . Be careful at least, okay?” 

 

Their departure is delayed with more precaution. Ed gives both Gilbert and Alexander a pair of phones: one Blackberry and one iPhone each. The iPhone, Ed explains, helps to be less conspicuous. 

 

“No one’s gonna question someone with an iPhone, right? I mean, everyone has one these days.” Ed shrugs. “Use it for small talk, text messages to friends. Be sure to sign up for it with your fake name, Al. Frenchie, make up a name and text it to me when I give you my number. I’ll tell the ID guy to put it on your card, you know, to keep the lie going.”

 

The Blackberry serves the same purpose as Ed’s own flip phone, he goes on to say. “This is the phone you call me from. Here’s my main number. You save my number as something simple, like ‘Dad’ or something. Well, Al can do that. We’re not really family, Frenchie...we’re not much of anything, really. No offense.”

 

“None taken, Edward,” He assures him.

 

“Alright. I’ll call you guys a cabbie. It’ll take you to a nice tourist-trap of a hotel, my treat, huh?”

 

“Ah, Edward, you don’t have to do that—”

 

“You suggesting I can’t afford it?” Ed growls, grabs Gilbert by the collar and shoves him against a wall. Alexander rushes to rip Ed’s hands off of him, but they’re nearly locked with the force he’s using to hold them closed.

 

“Ed,  _ stop _ .” Alexander nearly barks.

 

“I don’t understand you fuckin’ queers, honestly. Especially you French ones—always so fuckin’ uppity all the time, think you’re the best thing since Mariano Rajoy—I can’t fuckin’ stand you—”

 

Alexander rips Ed’s hands away before he can get a grip around Gilbert’s neck. Gilbert gasps in relief and falls to the hardwood panelling. 

 

“You need to relax.” Alexander says sternly, both of Ed’s hands securely in his grip. He tries to look Ed directly in the eye but his pupils are so dilated and the white of his eyes are so bloodshot—honestly his efforts of intimidation are fruitless if anything. His cousin is far too gone. 

 

Ed snatches his hands away and stumbles back. He goes into a room and comes out with a lot of Euro bills. He dramatically pushes them Alexander’s way. “Here. This is your first, advanced payment. Get your fuckin’ cab. Get out of my sight.”

  
  


“That was a bit tense,” Gilbert whispers once they’re both in the cab, their luggage crammed into the trunk. His voice is wary enough that Alexander can tell he’s been too scared to interject since Ed started addressing him directly. 

 

“Gilbert don’t...” He strokes his hand down Gilbert’s cheek, letting his finger linger near his lips. “Don’t get too sad about it, okay? Edward’s just strung out. He doesn’t completely register what he’s talking about.”

 

Gilbert sniffs. It’s not a “I’m-Ed-Stevens-and-I-just-snorted-five-lines-of-cocaine” type sniff. No, rather it’s a precursor of what’s to come. Gilbert’s on the verge of crying, and not from happiness.

 

“No, no, no, no…” Alexander coos and gestures for Gilbert to scoot closer to him. He does, and Gilbert  rests his face into the crook of his neck. Only one tear touches Alexander’s skin.

 

“I don’t know if I can do this.” Gilbert admits. “I don’t...It’s too risky. I can’t get yelled at like that again. I won’t, Alexander, I just fucking can’t.”

 

“No, you won’t. I won’t allow it.” Alexander swears. “Ed was an anomaly, alright? You don’t deserve to be yelled at like that. I wouldn’t dream of someone yelling at you—hurting you in general. You’re so beautiful, Gilbert, and I’m sorry my cousin—”

 

“Half-brother?”

 

“...Doesn’t matter. I’m sorry he’s such a dick. Drugs or not. I love you and you don’t deserve that.”

 

There’s a pause. “What?”

 

Alexander reviews what he said in the last few minutes and realizes his mistake. He also realizes that he’s dangerously close to Gilbert’s face, as if they’re betrothed lovers about to engage in a kiss. His hands are now both on Gilbert’s face, under his hair hanging from the sides of it. They’re so close that he’s sure they’re breathing the same air. 

 

“...What?” Alexander nervously repeats, hoping Gilbert will drop the interrogative tone.

 

“You said you…” Gilbert starts, trails off slowly until he can only mouth the words.

 

“I…” Alexander considers his options. It’s not a quick process. But being so close to Gilbert like this, his eyes a bit wet with worry, his face so sweet and innocent as always, he can barely control what comes out of his mouth next.

 

“...Yes. Yes I...do,” Alexander says, his hands starting to fall from Gilbert’s cheeks with the shock of it all. “I...really do. I’m not high or anything I...mean that.” 

 

Gilbert sighs. He leans forward and encourages Alexander to put his hands back where they were, and they share a kiss. This prompts the nosy driver, who has been looking at the couple from the rear view mirror, to let out a quick  _ awwww _ . Alexander and Gilbert startle at the interaction, and both look to the driver as if he’s lost his fucking mind. The driver snaps his eyes to the road in response and eases the partition up slowly.

 

Alexander looks back at Gilbert, and they laugh.

 

“I didn’t even know cabs could have partitions,” Alexander says through giggling. 

 

“I guess expensive ones can. Kiss me again,” Gilbert responds with. 

 

Alexander listens.

  
  


The city of Madrid is beautiful.

 

After the couple goes into their hotel (Alexander practices using his fake name with ease. Gilbert tells Alexander once they’re unpacking that his name is  _ Antoine Andre,  _ and Alexander scolds him for having ‘the most generic French name ever), they go into the city. Alexander’s ruffles his hair a bit to look less like a politician named Alexander and more like a badass of Spain named Raul. Madrid’s not a safe haven, he’s fully aware, but it is a rather accepting city. He holds Gilbert’s hand with internal hesitation, but less fear than he’s ever had in the States.

 

“It’s weird not being in the States during a crucial time like this. You know, us being so heavily involved with politics and all—”

 

“God.” Alexander hisses. “Don’t even remind me of this shitshow of an election.”

 

“It’s really sad. This is only Adrienne’s second time voting, and she’s been so stressed. “She told me how exciting voting for Washington’s second term was. It was a no-brainer then.I mean, come on, between Henry Knox and Washington, who are you gonna pick? The choice is obvious.”

 

“Henry has always been pretty unpopular, I knew he wasn’t going to win in ‘12.” Alexander agrees, pushing aside his bias towards President Washington. 

 

“I think it’s his excessive wealth, honestly. He’s not relatable to millennials. But this year, Jesus, Alexander, none of the candidates are relatable. And they’re both horribly rich.”

 

“Nathaniel Greene appealed to quite a few, I found. At least, that’s what the Democratic polls used to say. Socialism is all the rage, these days.”

 

“Sure, but we all knew he wasn’t going to win from the get-go. Abigail Adams has wanted to be in office since her husband was impeached. Then there was her embarrassing defeat during Washington’s first election. She’s more motivated than ever, but I’m worried about her. I’m not sure if the nation is ready for a female president.”

 

“Didn’t you say the same thing when Washington ran the first time?” Alexander laughs. “She will  _ not  _ lose. Charles Lee is a fucking idiot. He doesn’t have any political background, and he only pulls the stunts he does for attention. The American public isn’t stupid enough to elect someone so incompetent.”

 

“I hope you’re right.” Gilbert looks down at their hands. They’re holding each other’s hands like the world will end if they let go. He knows they’d never be able to do this in a Lee Administration, despite if Alexander got over his internalized biphobia or not. “I really hope you’re right.”

 

They head to a restaurant near Hotel Orfila, somewhere called La Tavernetta. An Italian place. Alexander eats his like he’s never been fed, while Gilbert keeps his meal small and avoids most of his favorite food groups, replacing what he’d usually be filled with in pasta with wine.

 

“Are you not hungry?” Alexander asks, concern lacing every syllable.

 

“That’s not it,” Gilbert says quickly to absolve Alex of worry. He lowers his voice to a whisper. “I just really want it to be easy for you to fuck me later.”

 

Alexander nearly chokes with the force he swallows his next bite of food. Gilbert laughs into his third glass of wine. He’s never been one to mince his words, and Alexander doesn’t know if he’ll ever be used to his forwardness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's pretty obvious but the next chapter will be sexually explicit.


	5. relaxed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander and Lafayette share a tender moment in a fancy hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **THERE IS NO DEATH IN THIS CHAPTER, BUT THERE IS A LOT OF SEX.**
> 
> Warnings: Explicit sexual content, choking, rough-housing during sexual acts, swearing.

Gilbert walks into the couple’s shared hotel space with just the right amount of confidence, the amount that screams “I just had three glasses of wine on a nearly empty stomach.”

 

“You sure about this, Gil?” Alexander says with a laugh, and it really is a little funny. The force with which Gilbert has sauntered in with is comical but also a little concerning. Gilbert just whips around and claws at Alexander’s suit-jacket in response.

 

“You’re wearing  _ too many clothes _ ,” he hisses. “ _ Please _ , Alexander. Ple–Raul, please.”

 

Objectively, that shouldn’t be sexy. Alexander’s name isn’t actually Raul, it’s fucking Alexander. Playing around like this is just childish.

 

“You know that’s not my real name.” Alexander says sternly. He can barely convince himself that he wants Gilbert to stop.

 

“Oh, am I in the wrong room?” Gilbert shoots back, playful and daring, cunning as a fox. “Because…” He shimmies out of his own coat and pants, urges Alexander to do the same to that goddamn jacket. Alex gives in and grabs at Gilbert with the same ferocity he had him. They must look silly like that, just holding each other, eye-fucking in the middle of their dimly lit hotel room. Alexander’s so thankful they’re far from anyone who could film him or document their stay.

 

He looks to Gilbert and sees something so mischievous in his eyes. Something he’s determined to chase. He forces all thoughts of embarrassment or self-hatred to the back of his mind and attempts to live in the moment.

 

“I thought this room belonged to Raul Gutierrez,” Gilbert all but purrs, exaggerated French accent and all. He rolls his hips when he says Alexander’s pseudonym again, grinding onto his lover’s groin with purpose. Alex whimpers helplessly and grips at Gilbert’s sides. His tongue lolls out of his mouth a bit and Gilbert takes it into his mouth and sucks on it.

 

“He’s a real man, that Gutierrez. 35, sexy as fuck…” He continues once he’s gotten Alexander riled up. 

 

“...He’s from the Madrid area, are you sure you’ve never met him?”

 

Gilbert tugs at Alexander’s dress shirt, and, okay, he can get with the program. Alex takes off his shirt completely and picks Gilbert up. Gilbert smiles wickedly and locks his legs around Alex’s bare waist. 

 

“I think it’s starting to come back to me,  _ Antoine,”  _ Alexander growls and takes Gilbert’s lower lip between his teeth. Gilbert lets out a moan, feminine, high, and heady. It drives Alex insane. He licks into Gilbert’s welcoming mouth, only stirring him up further.

 

Gilbert pulls at Alexander’s hair, sharp, and forces their faces to part. He’s a mess from all the panting. He plants and wet and toothy kiss to the crook of Alex’s neck, and the beginnings of a hickey start to bloom. Alex holds Gilbert closer to him, his chest sweaty and heaving, moans a plea of some sort into his hair.

 

“I want you to take me into the bedroom and fuck me until I can’t walk.” Gilbert says harshly. Alex’s tongue is caught in his mouth from shock, and all he can do is nod and carry him into the room.

 

Alexander lays him out on the bed, not even bothering to get under the sheets. 

 

The comforters are patterned, organized, and pristine. There’s even a sweet left on the pillow. A pity. The sweet goes flying off the bed with the force Alexander’s thrown Gilbert to it.

 

Alex crawls over him, nervous as hell. He hasn’t done this in years. Sure, there was the plane sex, but that was so much more rushed, so circumstantial. This was loving sex, something he never thought he’d witness again once Eliza left. And with someone so crucial to his past, someone so explicitly unattainable, it’s so much.  _ He’s here,  _ Alex tells himself.  _ He’s here, you’re here, you’re together, this is happening. _

 

Gilbert helps Alex out of his pants and tosses them to the floor. They’ve left a trail of garments at this point, but it can be handled later. Alex presses a crushing kiss to Gilbert’s mouth, all biting teeth and prodding tongue, and he swears he can hear angels sing.

 

When they separate, Alex is hyper aware of how hard he’s getting. He adjusts himself in his boxers to delay the inevitable. Gilbert laughs deviously and bats Alex’s hand away. In the same fluid motion, he strips Alex of his underwear.

 

“You devilish thing,” Alex chides. “You want me to ruin this for both of us?”

 

Gilbert shifts on the bed and glides out of his own underwear with ease. “We’re not 20-somethings anymore. You’ll be fine with a little nudity.”

 

Alexander exhales sharply through his nose in agreement. Stamina does improve with age. That’s the first time he’s ever been glad to say he’s nearly over the hill.

 

“Now, come on,” Gilbert shoves up to grind their cocks together, sucking a breath through gritted teeth as he moves. Alex knows Gilbert has to feel how hard he’s throbbing. “Fuck me. Show me just what Raul is all about. I’ve heard  _ wondrous _ things.”

 

“Wondrous, huh?” Alexander manages, echoing Gilbert’s pace. “Do tell, Andre, what do they say about me?”

 

Gilbert lets loose a slew of wanton moans. “They say you fuck like a champion, a fucking animal,”

“What else do they say?” Alex slips two of his fingers into Gilbert’s wet mouth. Gilbert hums with difficulty, but Alex just tuts. “Use your words,” he teases.

 

Gilbert sucks at his fingers greedily, laps at the saliva that drips down Alex’s hand. “They say that you’re addicting, that no one can get enough of you once they’ve tried you out.”

 

Alex moans at the praise. He takes his fingers and starts to tease Gilbert’s hole. Gilbert tries to speed up the process by pushing down on Alex’s hand, but he stops him.

 

“Antoine,  _ dearest _ , I don’t know much about France, but here in Spain, we…” Alex dips his face down and sucks at one of Gilbert’s nipples, laps at it until it’s pointed and stiff. He then licks quick stripe from the bottom of Gilbert’s hole to the tip of his dick, and Gilbert  _ mewls _ .

 

“We tend to take our time.” He completes his sentence with a laugh. He palms at his own dick, beads of precum already rolling down its shaft.

 

“You bastard, you know that’s not true, you f–” Gilbert arches up as Alex guides both slick fingers in.

 

He sets a steady but fast pace, pumping in and out, observing every movement and contort of Gilbert’s face as he goes on. 

 

“You want me to–?” Alexander asks, nonsensical. He’s so dizzy with arousal he’s seeing galaxies of stars.

 

“Yes, yes,” Gilbert chants.

 

Alex spits into his hand and strokes himself fully hard. He pushes into Gilbert with ease and they both sigh audibly when he’s fully seated. He starts ramming into him almost immediately, tired of waiting, tired of hiding, tired of not fucking Gilbert.

 

Alex tries not to look at Gilbert. It’s too much if he’s trying to last. The skin-slapping, the wonderful little whines and breathy sounds he’s making, his beautiful, sweat-drenched body, it’s too much. He doesn’t notice much of anything until–

 

“You’re shaking,” Alexander whispers, trying not to kill the mood with how concerned he is. 

 

Gilbert grins, strained. “Yeah,” he huffs out. “It’s okay, just a little overwhelmed.”

 

Alex simply decided to follow Gilbert’s words exactly, the whole “fuck me ‘till I can’t walk” thing. He’s never been the type to half-ass anything, why start now?

 

But only when he feels the slight vibration under Gilbert’s skin does he start to reconsider. The bite marks on his chest, they’re deep and red and glistening with spit. He might’ve gotten a little carried away with everything. He softens his grip on Gilbert’s sides and realizes he’s started to leave indents there with his fingers.

 

Alex begins to pull out of Gilbert and back away, but his lover’s hands search for purchase on his back. His nails – filed, keen, grating – tear at Alex’s back and Alex responds with a licentious sound. 

 

“Stay right fucking here,” Gilbert demands. His begging is licentious, and,  _ goddamn it _ , the back-grating hasn’t stopped. “Don’t you fucking stop.”

 

Alex returns to his brutal pace almost immediately. He doesn’t know why that filthy mouth of Gilbert’s can get him to obey so uncritically, but he can’t think to fight it now.

 

“Close,” Gilbert whispers, helpless. He’s so strung out he can barely bring his hips up to meet Alex’s anymore. Alex puts a hand up to get the sweat-coated hair out of his face, but Gilbert swipes it before he can. He presses Alex’s hand to his own Adam’s apple, mouths small, desperate, phrases:  please, please,  _ please Raul, please. _

 

Alex squeezes around Gilbert’s throat, and the cry Gilbert lets out when he comes is more soothing than any church hymn Alex’s ever heard.

  
  


_ “Was that better than that Elaine girl you’re always talking about, huh?” Gilbert says once he’s able. He blots some of the sweat off of his brow with the comforter. _

 

_ “Her name’s Eliza,” Alexander huffs. He shifts a bit to get comfortable in the motel bed. He doesn’t mind sleeping in the wet spot. He’s honestly dealt with worse. _

 

_ “Whatever. I’ll always think I’m better.” Gilbert purses his lips and bats his eyes. “Do you?” _

 

_ “C’mon, don’t muck this up with jealous talk, okay? You’re 30 now, let’s act like it.” Alex presses a sweet kiss to Gilbert’s nose. “That was great. You were great. You always are.” _

 

_ “Mm.” He’s unconvinced.  _

_ “How do I prove to you that you’re as lovely as I know you are?”  _

 

_ “Just...I don’t know, Alex. This…” He gestures to the entirety of the motel room. There are cracks on all four walls of it, and Alex is pretty sure there’s a rat family living under the dresser drawers. _

 

_ “This is...cute. It’s an interesting dynamic. But I don’t want it again. I just…” _

 

_ “We can go somewhere nicer next time,” Alex interjects. “I swear it, we never have to be in a gross, grimey–” _

 

_ “It’s not the room, Alex. It’s the principle. This...the secrecy...the fact that I know you’re not going to be there when I wake up.” _

 

_ Alex puts his tongue to the roof of his mouth at the accusation. He fights the urge to fire back with something akin to agreement. _

 

_ “Don’t lie to me, Alex. I just want the lies to stop. I don’t like being a secret.” _

 

_ “What if I stayed tonight?” _

 

_ A pause. “You won’t,” Gilbert decides, sure of himself. _

 

_ Alex feels his face heating up. “I swear I will. I’ll stay the whole night. I’ll be here in the morning when you wake up, I’ll kiss you awake and we’ll go out to breakfast together.” _

 

_ Gilbert’s face softens a bit. “I like omelettes.” _

 

_ Alexander gets up to take out his contacts and wash his face. “We’ll get you that omelette, babe,” he yells from the washroom. “With cheese and spinach and everything else.” _

 

_ “Mushrooms,” Gilbert says with a smile when Alex gets back. “I love mushrooms.” _

 

_ Alex thumbs at Gilbert’s cheeks and kisses him, long and deep and languid, and puts his head to the pillow. “And mushrooms,” he agrees. Gilbert gushes. _

 

_ Alex watches as Gilbert settles into slumber, tracing patterns into his arm as his breathing evens out. _

 

_ In the morning, Gilbert woke up alone. _

  
  


Sunlight drips through the windows of the hotel room and right into Gilbert’s line of vision. Gilbert opens his eyes quickly as it seeps in and slowly sits up in the large bed, dopey and sated. 

The bed feels too large though, and Gilbert starts to panic. Alexander’s gone. Again.

 

The door opens, and it’s Alexander. Gilbert gets up to scold him, but he’s handed a plate of something.

 

“They only had Spanish omelets,” Alexander says, irritated. “I asked for mushrooms in it and they put them on the side, but I had to nearly beg them! And you’d think, with the buffet being 49-fucking-euro-dollars per person th–”

 

Gilbert tackles Alexander and showers him in kisses. The omelet, thankfully, lands on the plate still, so it can be salvaged. They don’t care.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this chapter being so short, but I think this scene needed it's own chapter before it gets back to the heavier stuff.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: stonerjohnlaurens  
> twitter: gayjohnlaurens


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